The Agent and the Oblivious Bunny
by Emery Saks
Summary: Agent Peggy Carter receives an undercover assignment to make a mark at the Playboy Club in New York City and bring the Leviathan defector back to the SSR, and she's less than thrilled by the location. But when a bubbly Playboy bunny mistakes Peggy as a client with eclectic tastes, the British agent becomes quite flustered and then intrigued.
1. A Most Unwanted Assignment

Agent Peggy Carter had tackled many missions during her lifetime – missions that would've reduced a grown man to tears – yet she'd never batted an eye at them. She'd battled Hydra, faced down Nazis, jumped out of airplanes while being shot at and had even managed to ward off multiple passes from Howard Stark.

Not even the blatant sexism of her office coworkers – she being the only female agent in the male-dominated SSR office – seemed to rattle the self-possessed woman. No, Peggy Carter had a reputation as an ice queen, a woman who could stare down death and not be fazed. She was seemingly unflappable.

Until now.

Everything had been manageable until Chief Thompson had handed her a file yesterday and smirked, "Your new mission."

Peggy took the file warily. "Code breaking?"

Thompson shook his head and leaned against her desk. "Nah, Carter. You proved your worth with that break in the O'Hallihan case last month. This one will require a little more finesse than that, but if anyone can do it, it's you."

Peggy's eyes flickered to the dossier and she started reading. A moment later, she began coughing as the air suddenly left her lungs. Thompson reached over and helpfully gave her a few sharp raps on her back.

"You all right there, Carter?" he chuckled.

Peggy shook her head vehemently. "I most certainly am not."

"What seems to be the problem?"

Her eyes widened incredulously. "You can't honestly expect me to go undercover at this… this…"

Thompson grinned. "It's a club, Carter."

"It's the Playboy Club, Jack!"

Thompson shrugged. "So it is."

Peggy glared at him. "It caters exclusively to men. Men with certain eclectic tastes."

"What are you trying to say, Carter?"

Peggy gritted her teeth. Thompson was enjoying this far too much. "I'm saying that men go there to ogle scantily clad women dressed as bunnies. And if I'm not mistaken, they probably do far more than simply ogle."

Thompson clucked disapprovingly and waggled a finger. "Now, now Carter. They have strict rules about their girls and customers. Besides, women patronize the club, too. No need for nasty insinuations."

Peggy rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. "Frankly, I'm shocked you even know such a big word." She released a sigh. "The only women I've ever heard of visiting are celebrities, something I am clearly not. Why would you ever think I'm the agent best suited for this assignment? Shouldn't you send Johnson or Smithton?"

Jack grinned. "If you'd bothered to read the whole dossier, you'd realize why I asked you."

Peggy retrieved the file and opened it again. Scanning the pages, her eyes widened and mouth formed a surprised "o" as she took in the information. When she was done, she closed the pages and let out a resigned sigh. "Well, that certainly makes more sense now."

"It does, doesn't it," Thompson smirked. He sat down on the edge of the desk and nodded at the folder. "Your mark is a Leviathan defector who, up until recently, was working on their chemical arms program. A foreign government was able to smuggle him out of Russia, but those darn Ruskies caught wind of it and sent a retrieval team after him. He's been holed up at the New York club ever since, just awaiting extraction. We figure now's our best chance to beat the other guys and bring him to our side, and since he has a predilection for leggy brunettes, you're our best option."

Peggy groaned. "You want me to go undercover as a bunny."

Thompson roared with laughter. "Oh Carter, as entertaining as that would be, I do value my life. No, there's no bunny suit in your future. You'll simply show up and flirt a little with some of the men there until you're able to make contact with our Soviet professor. A few drinks in, you make it obvious to anyone watching you're available to this guy and then you'll leave on his arm and into the car we'll have waiting for you outside."

Peggy had to admit it seemed a rather flawless plan. "I assume you have a key for me?"

Thompson retrieved a key from his coat pocket. "As a matter of fact, I'm sending you with my own personal membership."

Peggy scoffed. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I expect it to be returned in mint condition, Carter."

She swiped the offensive token from his open palm and pocketed it. "I can't make any promises, Jack."

Thompson just chuckled. "You go in tomorrow, so take the rest of the day off and go buy something real nice courtesy of the SSR. I want that professor falling all over you. I'll have Sousa phone you later about your ride." He turned and headed for the door, but stopped to call, "Oh and Carter?"

Peggy growled. "What?"

"Don't stay too out late!"


	2. The Energetic Bunny

Camera bulbs flashed and a crowd of onlookers milled about hoping to catch a glimpse of the rich and famous when Peggy's car finally pulled up outside the nine-story building situated at 5 East 59th Street the following night. She was somewhat surprised to realize how nondescript the building was. Truth be told, she'd expected something a bit more glamorous.

When the driver came around to open the door, she stepped out and did her best to keep head down, deftly avoiding the camera flashes popping around her. Best not to have her picture splashed across the social section if she could help it. Fortunately, James Stewart showed up right behind her and the reporters quickly swarmed around peppering him with questions about his latest film, It's a Wonderful Life.

Peggy made her way to the entrance and breezed inside where she was met by a young woman clad in what was evidently the standard Bunny costume. Although she had seen pictures in the society pages of _The New York Times,_ she wasn't quite prepared for seeing the outfit in person.

The black fabric was cut shockingly high above the hips with a daring cleavage line, accentuated by white cuffs with black cuff links, a starched white collar, black bow tie, dark heels and an outrageous pair of carefully pointed bunny ears perfectly situated atop the woman's flaxen curls. The large cotton fluff affixed to her posterior completed the absurd ensemble.

Peggy briefly wondered how she managed to avoid a chill with all the cold air rushing in whenever the door opened, but her thoughts were cut short when the woman glanced up and gave her a bright smile. "Good evening! May I have your membership key, please?"

"Of course," Peggy smiled in return, retrieving the small, bunny-shaped metal key Thompson had given to her the day before.

The Door Bunny took it and turned it over, consulting her book. "Will your husband be joining you this evening?" she asked.

Peggy blinked in surprise - couples actually came here together? - but quickly recovered. "Yes, actually, he will be. Should I leave the key here for him?" She gave the woman an awkward smile. "Truth be told, this is my first time here, so I'm not quite familiar with how it all works."

The Door Bunny smiled knowingly. "It can be a little overwhelming the first few times."

"I am a little out of my element," Peggy admitted, the sincerity in that statement surprisingly genuine.

"You just wait. By March, this will all be old hat." She gave her a blinding smile. "Tell you what, I'll just make a note next to his name and when he arrives, he can find you," she informed her, returning the key to Peggy.

"That'd be lovely. Thank you."

"It's my pleasure, Mrs. Thompson," she assured her and motioned to the heavy mahogany doors behind her. "Have a wonderful evening!"

Peggy bit back a grimace – honestly, _Mrs. Thompson_ – and gave her an insincere smile. "I'm sure I will," she promised as she made her way through the double doors which were opened for her.

Once inside, she shrugged out of her warm coat and handed it to another bunny – this one in purple and _dear Lord, were they everywhere?_ – before making her way to the crowded floor. Scanning the room as she walked, she saw no sign of the Leviathan scientist, but the night was young and, if their intel was correct, he'd make an appearance within the next hour. Peggy sighed. An hour. Somehow, the wait felt interminable. She glanced down at the dress she'd purchased for tonight in the hopes of drawing in her mark.

The deep burgundy number fell just off her shoulders and tapered down to caress her curves like a well-worn glove. It stopped just below her knees, showcasing her lean calves, and although it wasn't quite as daring as the ivory-and-gold number she'd worn a few months ago when they'd first learned of Leviathan, it was still cut low enough to give any man a tantalizing view of her quite-considerable assets. Best to probably mingle, she thought, lest she draw any unwanted attention to herself.

"Hi, honey! What can I get you?"

Unwanted attention, indeed, she snorted, and turned around to find –

Quite possibly the most adorable young woman she'd ever seen grinning at her, balancing a drink tray on her upturned palm, her other hand flirtatiously waggling five fingers.

Peggy's mouth fell slightly open as she took in the smaller woman in a turquoise bunny outfit, curls bouncing fetchingly around her face, blue eyes twinkling. The ridiculous outfit looked far less so on her, and Peggy couldn't help noticing how the high cut highlighted what were obviously the legs of a trained dancer. She felt her cheeks grow warm as she realized she was gawking.

The younger woman undeniably noticed the not-so-subtle onceover and shot Peggy a sly grin. "So what'll it be, sugar?"

Peggy cleared her throat. "Ah, a gin and tonic, please." Thank God her voice sounded somewhat collected.

The bunny glanced at her tray and frowned. "I'm fresh out of those, but I'll tell you what. You head over to the bar," she cocked her head toward the lavish counter a few yards away, "and make yourself comfortable. I gotta drop off these drinks to some gentlemen over there, but then I'll be right back to take care of you."

"That's really not necessary, Miss –"

"It's Angie, and I say it is. We have rules here, and if the boss thinks I'm slacking, I could get sacked. You don't wanna be responsible for me losing my job, do ya', English?" Her lips jutted out in a small pout, one that Peggy was sure worked like a charm every time she did it, because it was certainly working on her – _Bloody Nora why was it working on her?_

Letting out a resigned sigh, she shook her head. "The bar over there, yes?"

Angie let out a gleeful squeal. "That's the one! I'll only be gone two shakes of a bunny's tail," she promised and wiggled her rear end twice before bouncing away and tossing a "See you in a jiffy, doll!" over her shoulder.

Peggy watched Angie depart, then blinked a few times when she realized she was still staring at her retreating form. Willing herself to tear her eyes away from the turquoise-clad bunny, she reached up, pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned.

"I'm going to murder Jack Thompson."


	3. Caught in Her Snare

Peggy had barely sat down when the gentleman on her right turned and flashed what she assumed was meant to be a charming smile at her.

"Well, well, this must be my lucky day!"

Ordinarily, Peggy would have shut him down faster than he could blink, but Jack Thompson's words echoed in her mind, _"flirt a little until you identify the mark,"_ so she put on her most flattered expression and leaned in invitingly.

"Or perhaps it's mine," she replied coyly, bringing her hand to sit closer to his on the mahogany bar top.

He smiled and scooted closer. "Oh, I like how you think." He took her hand and raised it to his lips. "The name's Jack Becker. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Peggy inwardly groaned. Another Jack? That name was destined to haunt her. She was sure of it, but she just batted her eyes winningly at him and said, "Margaret Matthews. My friends call me Peggy."

"Peggy," he murmured," still holding her hand. "What a lovely name."

"Thank you, Mr. Becker–"

"Please," he interrupted. "I insist – call me, Jack."

Peggy gritted her teeth. " _Jack._ "

"Much better," he grinned.

"And what exactly is it that you do?"

"A lady who cuts straight to the heart of the matter," he laughed. "I like that." He leaned back, bringing her hand with him and continued, "I'm in defense. Tanks, experimental aircraft – the like."

Peggy nodded finding herself actually intrigued. "Experimental aircraft? Sounds fascinating. Anything I might be familiar with?"

Jack chuckled. "I highly doubt it. These are big boy toys – nothing you should worry your pretty little head about." He glanced up and motioned to a bunny.

Even though Peggy knew she shouldn't take the risk, the man's chauvinism annoyed her and she couldn't stop the next words that came out of her mouth. "Oh really? Would any of those toys be the Republic XF-12?"

Jack's eyes widened.

"Oh, silly me!" Peggy smirked, waving her free hand dismissively. "It's probably Howard Stark's XF-11. I know he crashed the first prototype last year, but I hear he's gunning for a second test in the near future." She retrieved her hand from Jack's grasp.

There was a moment of silence before Jack's face split into a wide grin. "Honey, I don't know who you've been talking to get that information, but I love a woman with sass. Now tell me, what are you having? I'd love to buy you a drink."

Peggy's eyes slid shut in disbelief. Here she was trying to shake this egomaniac and all she'd succeeded in doing was intrigue him. She was about to resort to more drastic measures when a crystal tumbler was set down, rather firmly, in front of her, its contents sloshing precariously against the clear sides. She looked up to find Angie standing on the other side of the bar.

"The lady is having a gin and tonic, but it's on the house," she informed him. "But if you're Mr. Becker, there's a call from your business partner waiting for you in the private lounge. He said it was urgent."

Angie gave him a bright grin as she said this, but Peggy could easily discern the steely look in her vivid blue eyes.

Jack groaned and turned to Peggy with a disappointed frown. "As much as I hate to leave such a beautiful lady, business calls." He took her hand and gave it another kiss. "However, I should only be a few minutes, Peggy. I hope we can resume this conversation when I return."

The two women watched him walk away, then Peggy wiped her hand rather inelegantly along her dress.

"Ugh! I've been working here for a month now, and I still can't believe some of the lines these men use," Angie muttered.

Peggy laughed and turned back to face her unexpected savior. "Thank you for rescuing me."

Angie waved a hand. "It was nothing. Usually they hit on us, and that's okay, because that's our job. But I ain't keen when they start doing it to our patrons – even if they are single ladies–" her eyes stole down to Peggy's left hand as she said this and then brought her gaze back up, "who look like a million bucks."

Peggy blushed and glanced down, pretending to flick away a speck of lint that didn't exist on her gown. When she raised her gaze, Angie winked and gave her a saucy grin. "Geez, English, I've seen thermometers turn less red than you."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're implying," Peggy responded primly, somewhat taken aback by the bunny's bold behavior.

Angie chuckled. "I'm sure you don't. Now you gonna' drink that gin and tonic or what? 'On the house' is really code for 'outta my personal pocketbook,' so I'd appreciate it if you didn't let it go to waste," she smiled, nudging it toward her.

"Oh, Angie! I can't let you pay for my drink," Peggy protested. "We hardly know each other and, besides that, it might seem a bit peculiar."

Angie frowned. "What would?"

"Letting a woman buy me a drink," Peggy responded honestly.

Angie's eyes furrowed and she looked at Peggy's hand again. "Not married?"

Peggy gave her a queer look. "No."

"Here by yourself?"

"I am."

"And that guy _was_ bothering you, yeah?"

Peggy laughed and leaned closer. "He was absolutely horrid."

Angie cocked her head in confusion. "Not sure I see the problem here, English."

Peggy gave her an odd smile but reached for the glass. If she didn't know any better, she'd almost swear the younger woman was flirting with her. But surely, she was misreading the conversation. From everything she'd heard, the Playboy Club prided itself on superb customer service. Apparently, that service extended to both sexes? Surely that had to be what was going on here? That's the only thing that made sense.

Dismissing her ludicrous assumption, Peggy smiled and raised her glass. "I suppose you're right. To Angie, rescue bunny."

Angie rolled her eyes. "That's awful."

Peggy knocked back half the drink and shrugged. "I'm horrible with toasts."

"But not with downing your liquor," Angie shot back, astonishment coloring her words. "That's impressive, Peggy."

Peggy frowned. "I don't recall telling you my name."

"You didn't," Angie laughed. "But I heard Mr. Big Shot Aircraft man say it when I came to your rescue."

"Ah."

Peggy," she repeated. "That short for something?"

"Margaret, actually."

"Angela Martinelli," Angie smiled, pointing to herself.

"That's a lovely name."

Angie nodded, "It is, and it's what I use for my auditions, but here, men like something a little more playful, and I've always gone by Angie, except at home. Catholic mother – big on full names."

Peggy laughed. "Anglican. I can empathize." She gave Angie a curious glance. "Does your family know about your job?"

"They do."

"And they're comfortable with you working here?"

Angie shrugged. "I wouldn't say comfortable."

"Ah."

"Obviously, my folks weren't too thrilled when this job came up," Angie admitted. "In fact, I'm pretty sure my ma throws in a few Our Fathers and Virgin Immaculates for me every Sunday at Mass because of it – and a few other things," she muttered. "But hey, it  
pays the bills and lets me go to auditions during the day and that ain't nothin', you know?"

"I'm sure it's not as bad as it seems," Peggy agreed, filing away the "other things" to be reviewed at a later time. "To be honest, I'm rather surprised at how well behaved everyone is in here."

"This is high class establishment, English. I mingle with the gentlemen, flirt and throw in the occasional coy smile. All looks but no touch, if you know what I mean," Angie grinned mischievously.

Peggy scowled. "Still, don't you find it all a bit…" she waved a hand around before finally settling on, "demeaning?"

Angie merely laughed. "I can see how a gal like you would think that. But honestly, it's not." She leaned in. "See, I got plans, Peggy. One of these days, you're gonna stroll through Times Square and see my name in lights. This job is a great way to meet people in the biz, make connections and polish off the rough edges."

Peggy sighed. "I suppose I can see your point, but I still can't help thinking you're being objectified."

"Oh, no doubt about it, but at least the tips here are better than at my old diner job," she winked.

Peggy couldn't help laughing at that. "I imagine they are."

"Besides, Hef's pretty strict on what the customers can and can't do. I'm less likely to get a smack on the rear end here." She glanced down at the unfinished drink. "Say you gonna finish that or what?"

"Miss Martinelli, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to get me drunk," Peggy admonished playfully, the liquor and relaxed conversation making her feel more at ease than she'd been in quite some time.

"Hey whatever works!" Angie fired back with a wink.

There it was again. Peggy could swear that the bouncy, Italian waitress was flirting with her. Her initial reaction of shock was quickly followed by the entirely unexpected feeling of pleasure. She stopped and examined that. Was she actually enjoying this? She felt  
a warm flush creep up the back of her neck as she realized she was.

"Oh dear Lord," she murmured.

"What was that, English?"

"Nothing," Peggy quickly replied before lifting her glass and draining it in one long gulp.

Angie shook her head in amazement. "Geez, Peggy, you put that away better than most of the men I serve every night."

"Wonderful," Peggy muttered, desperately looking out to the floor, at anything that wasn't the distracting turquoise bunny in front of her. Her eyes scanned the room for her mark but no luck.

Angie followed Peggy's gaze and smiled knowingly. "That's Doris. She's got legs that go on for miles, but trust me, English, you could give her a run for her money!"

Peggy spluttered. "I wasn't actually looking at… Doris. I was looking for a friend I'm supposed to meet later." She turned back to Angie. "She's wearing yellow. You're in blue. The woman at the door was in black. Do you get to pick your color?" she asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from her legs and Angie's apparent scrutiny of them.

"Nah," Angie shrugged. "We just wear what they tell us. They put me in turquoise – said it matches my eyes. Kinda' a shame if you ask me. I think lavender would've been a better color for me, dontcha' agree?" Angie waggled her eyebrows at Peggy and grinned.

 _Lavender._

Now Peggy was convinced the bunny was flirting with her – certain beyond all reasonable doubt, in fact, and she needed to extract herself from a situation in which she was rapidly losing control. She looked up again, scanning for a way to excuse herself, when her eyes suddenly found her mark making his way to the center of the club. A moment later, she noticed three large men heading toward him from the opposite side of the room.

"Oh bloody hell. Why can't these things ever be easy?" she muttered, reaching for the gun she had stashed in her handbag and rising from the stool. She looked back at Angie with a grim smile.

"Thank you for the drink, Miss Martinelli. Now if you'll kindly excuse me, I have a man to catch."


	4. Mixed Signals

Angie couldn't hide her surprise. Honestly, she wasn't even quite sure what had just happened, one minute she was flirting with the most gorgeous woman she'd ever seen and thinking she might be actually be getting somewhere, and then the next said woman was racing across the room babbling on about catching a man. Talk about a brush off.

"Geez," Angie muttered. She watched as Peggy came up behind a small-framed man and graced him with a fetching smile. He looked surprised as hell when Peggy looped her arm through his and practically began dragging him toward the club's entrance. Angie frowned. For someone who had come across so reticent with her, she sure was being pushy now.

She watched as the man tried to extract himself from Peggy's grasp, but then the brunette leaned in and whispered something in his ear and, whatever it was, must've been good because he suddenly shifted gears and moved willingly with her toward the door.

That was about the same time Angie saw Peggy glance up and hone in on three men who stepped from the staircase near the bar where Angie stood. They strolled past her area, eyes focused on the man beside Peggy. Angie observed the tallest man reach into his suit jacket and, when his hand came back out, a heavy pistol rested within his grasp.

Angie's mouth dropped open in astonishment when she watched Peggy reach into her clutch and pull out a gun of her own. _What kind of girl carried a gun in her clutch?_ Her eyes briefly met Peggy's, and when she saw the leggy brunette silently mouth "Get down!" Angie didn't hesitate, reaching over to grab Doris, who had just returned to the bar, pulling her down behind the counter alongside her.

Within seconds pandemonium erupted as people began shouting and rushing to take cover when they realized guns had been drawn in the center of the room. Never one to do as she was told, Angie carefully poked her head up above the bar to try and see what was happening. She spied several people hunkering down behind the couches lining the large room and a few people trying, and failing, to hide behind the tables scattered throughout the club. She could see Peggy shielding her mystery man – and _honestly shouldn't that be the other way around_ – her gun aimed at the three men who were now only 15 feet away from her, the tallest man pointing his own pistol directly at her heart.

Angie sucked in a breath and clenched her hands against the wooden bar top. She'd seen her fair share of fights – after all, when her family was in the business they were in, how could she not – but she'd never been this close to anyone with a gun pointed at them. It was unnerving, and she was sure if it had been her, she would've probably screamed or thrown something at the guy.

Peggy, however, seemed entirely unfazed by it. Her eyes were cold like ice and when she spoke her voice was clear and calm. "I'm warning you – stand down."

"We have no business with you, _shlyukha_ ," the tallest man spat out condescendingly. "Release the _predatel_ , and we will leave you unharmed."

"I'm afraid I'm unable to do that," Peggy replied, keeping her gun trained on him, voice never wavering.

Angie's eyes widened in disbelief. _Was this dame crazy? Let the guy go already. No man was worth that kind of trouble!_

By now Doris too had lifted her head, her yellow ears peeking over the countertop, to take in the action. She glanced at Angie and whispered. "Your friend seems a little…insane."

"Yeah," Angie nodded in agreement before sighing, "But those legs go on for days."

"Sure hope she can use 'em to run."

Angie did too, because now the men were approaching Peggy, having apparently decided the odds were in their favor. Three to one was definitely not a fair fight, and even though Angie barely knew the English woman, there was no way she was going to let her do this on her own. She scanned the area, looking for something she could use as a weapon, and her eyes landed on the heavy metallic serving tray she used to carry her drinks. She decided that would have to do.

"Angie, what do you think you're doing?!" Doris hissed when she saw Angie grab the tray and slowly creep toward the edge of the counter.

"Going out to protect my girl," she muttered, inching her way out into the open.

"You barely even know her!"

"Well, I'd like to know her better, and I can't do that if she ends up dead, now can I?"

Angie was in full view now and she prayed that the men in front of her, especially the one with the gun, wouldn't turn around, otherwise she was toast. Peggy saw her, but the woman was smooth and averted her eyes as to not give her away. Angie made a mental note to kiss her for that later.

She silently crept closer until she was directly behind the shortest man in the trio and raised the tray. She saw Peggy's finger twitch almost imperceptibly on the trigger and…. then the entire club exploded into mass chaos when Peggy's mystery man tried to run.

"Hey!" Angie shouted, forgetting herself. She winced when Bad Guy number three – as she had taken to calling him in her head – whirled around and raised his gun at her. But Angie was faster, bringing the tray up to solidly connect with his temple, and he crumpled to the ground as the gun fell from his limp fingers.

Peggy didn't hesitate either. She fired point blank at the man standing in front of her while somehow dodging to the right and moving forward as his gun exploded, the bullet shattering a rather expensive mirror not ten feet behind where Peggy had just been standing.

Angie watched as the remaining man from the group dove behind a couch and then looked up in time to see Peggy hurtling toward her. She felt the other woman's arms wrap around her as they collided and then they were rolling across the floor coming to rest behind the temporary safety of a couch.

Even though she knew she should be concerned that gunshots had just been fired, Angie was having a hard time concentrating on anything other than Peggy's warm body which was currently splayed atop hers.

She opened her eyes to find Peggy staring intently at her. "Are you alright?" she whispered, hot breath ghosting across Angie's ear.

Angie nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Good," Peggy breathed.

She shifted, and Peggy's soft curves pressing into all the right places were more than Angie's poor brain could take. She certainly couldn't be held responsible for the moan that escaped her lips nor the leg that rose of its own volition to wrap around Peggy's hip. A dark look flashed in the other woman's eyes and Angie felt Peggy's hips press into her own before Peggy seemed to come to her senses.

"Well, now certainly isn't the time," she sighed, fingers digging into Angie's arms (Angie immediately began praying to God later might be the time) and then Peggy was rolling off her and clambering to her feet. "Stay down!" she hissed before disappearing back around the couch.

Angie listened as another gunshot rang out, followed by the sound of splintering wood and a feminine groan. She popped up just in time to see Peggy picking herself up off the ground between the remains of a shattered coffee table. The man, who Angie had last seen disappear behind a couch, charged toward Peggy with a jagged shard of glass, but Peggy merely stood there, waiting. Angie watched, in awe, as Peggy easily dodged his blow and placed a well-aimed kick at his side. His hands instantly clutched his ribs, and Peggy used the opportunity to follow it up with a sharp jab to his throat. As the man fell to his knees, Peggy reached over and grabbed a bottle of champagne from a nearby table, neatly smashing it across his head for good measure. Dusting her hands off, Peggy straightened her dress and then gingerly stepped around the shattered glass.

Angie stared at her in shock before turning her attention toward the room that had, up until recently, been a high-class joint. Gunshot holes peppered the ceiling and the entrance wall mirror lay scattered on the plush carpet. The guy she'd clocked with the serving tray was still out cold and the thug Peggy had just busted up lay not too far away. The other guy – who Angie was pretty sure was dead – was sprawled in the center of the room, a dark bloodstain spread out beneath him.

All in all, it was a lot for a girl to take in on a Thursday night. She felt her legs start to give beneath her and then Peggy was suddenly there beside her, hands clutching her by the shoulders, concern etched on her face. "Angie, are you all right?"

"Am _I_ okay?!" she yelped in disbelief. "You're the one who just took on what looks like the Russian mafia!" She reached out and touch Peggy's temple. "Oh my God! You're bleeding!"

She watched as Peggy brought her fingers to her skin. When she took them away, a light sheen of blood coated them. "Probably some glass from the champagne bottle," she said dismissively, reaching for a napkin and cleaning them off.

Angie's eyes bore into Peggy's, and she stepped closer, fingers reaching out lay on Peggy's forearm. "Geez, English, you were incredible," she breathed, her stomach doing all sorts of things in the presence of this amazing woman.

Peggy glanced down to where Angie's fingers were. When she looked back up, a bright blush suffused her cheeks. "You weren't too bad yourself. A serving tray? I'm impressed."

Angie shrugged. "You pick up a thing or two when you come from Brooklyn," she smirked.

Peggy swayed closer. "What else have you picked up?" she breathed, head leaning towards Angie.

 _Was this really happening?_ Angie swallowed, eyes sliding shut and other hand reaching out to Peggy's waist in an attempt to steady them both.

"Agent Carter! Are you all right?"

Angie heard Peggy inhale sharply as she pulled her wrist from Angie's grasp to address the man who had just burst through the doors. The brunette swallowed and turned around but Angie barely heard her response.

 _Carter? I thought her name was Matthews._ Confusion clouded her eyes and then a more upsetting realization trickled into her thoughts.

 _Agent. Oh no, no no no! AGENT._ This woman was some sort of federal agent, and Angie had been mere moments from kissing her. Sure, Peggy seemed pretty keen on kissing her back, but maybe it was all part of her cover? After all, for all Peggy knew, Angie could've have been in cahoots with the bad guys and been trying to set her up.

Angie had to get away, now, before she could cause any more damage to an already embarrassing situation or, worse, be arrested on an indecency charge and thrown in jail.

She saw Peggy start to turn toward her but Angie was already off and running to the back of the club, praying she could make it to the alleyway before anyone could catch her.


	5. Hot Pursuit

Losing control of a situation wasn't something which often happened to Peggy Carter, but she would be the first to admit this mission had gotten entirely out of hand. She hadn't expected that, but, in her defense, she also hadn't planned on meeting Angie Martinelli.

Within less than two hours, all her carefully laid plans had flown out of the window and now Angie was fleeing the scene as if the devil himself were chasing her.

"Carter? You okay?" Johnson's concerned voice floated across the room, pulling her from her musings.

"I'm fine," she winced, pinching the bridge of her nose. "But I'm afraid that poor young woman isn't." She nodded towards Angie's retreating from. "Can you manage this?"

"Absolutely."

"Good man," Peggy replied, and then she took off, racing after the turquoise bunny that had gotten a considerable lead on her. She watched as Angie darted through a swinging door and disappeared. Running harder, she soon reached it and called after the younger woman, but Angie didn't stop. She saw her round a corner and gave pursuit, but when she came into the hallway, she skidded to a stop, seeing nothing but blackness at the far end of the dim corridor and no sign of Angie. She paused, listening. A minute later, she heard a door slamming several yards away. Following the sound, she burst into an alleyway, the cool night air a welcome relief across her flushed skin. The area was dark, save a pale yellow light situated on the building opposite them, but through the faint illumination, she was able to discern Angie's small form.

When Angie turned to face her, Peggy's heart almost broke. Tears streamed down the other woman's face, and she eyed Peggy with a look that was practically fearful. Peggy shifted to step closer, but Angie raised a hand to stop her.

"Angie, I can explain –"

"I think we're past explanations," she whispered, then, "Oh my God, I can't believe you're a Fed!" Moaning, Angie slumped down on an empty wooden crate in the alley and cradled her head in her hands.

"No, not a Fed. Not precisely," Peggy tried to reassure her.

Angie glanced up hopefully. "You're not?"

"No, but I do work for a government agency," Peggy clarified.

Angie's head dropped again. "Not helping, English," she muttered from between her fingers.

Peggy laughed affectionately. "Oh Angie, do stop being so melodramatic."

She knelt down and pried the younger woman's hands away from her face. When Angie finally looked at her, she carefully removed her turquoise bunny ears and ran long fingers through the once-bouncy curls. Extracting a handkerchief from her clutch, Peggy gently dabbed at the wet tears glistening on Angie's cheeks. Once finished, she leaned back. "There," she said, smiling. "Much better."

Angie stared at her, seemingly surprised by Peggy's tender administrations. Her next words, when she found them, came out somewhat hesitantly. "So if you're not with the Feds, then who are you with?"

"I'm not sure I should say," Peggy admitted, biting her lower lip. "It's classified."

Angie gave her a long look. "I spent most of tonight throwing myself at a female government agent, Peggy _Carter_." Peggy didn't miss the emphasis on her last name. "Quite obviously, I might add," Angie continued. Her gaze fell, and the next words from her lips poured out in a muted whisper. "I think I have the right to know who's going to arrest me."

"Oh, Angie," Peggy sighed, her voice much softer this time. She dropped to her knees, heedless of her gown and took the young woman's hands in hers. "Nobody is going to arrest you."

Angie's blue eyes rose to see Peggy regarding her tenderly. "But I–"

Peggy squeezed her hands. "Nobody is going to arrest you."

The corner of Angie's mouth lifted into a smile. "You said that already."

Peggy nodded. "And I'll keep saying it until you believe me."

"But I don't understand. There are laws and stuff about people like me."

Peggy gave her a sad smile. "There are, but that doesn't make them right."

For the first time since she and Peggy reached the alleyway, Angie actually smiled. "You really are something, Peggy Carter." Her smile faltered, and she tried to pull her hands back. "I don't mean that in a queer way," she stuttered but stopped when Peggy's hand tightened around her own.

"I know you don't, Angie, and even if you did, it still wouldn't matter."

Angie looked at her in surprise. "It wouldn't?"

Peggy shook her head. "No."

"I know I keep saying this," Angie murmured, "but I don't understand. Don't you have to enforce the rules? I mean, that's your job, isn't it?"

Angie had her there. It was her job, but early on, Peggy had discovered enforcing black and white rules rarely led to a happy outcome. Laws were made to be followed, but the interpretation of said laws was certainly open to judgment at times – preferably judgment that contained a strong measure of compassion. Besides that, Peggy was inexplicably drawn to this woman who had so easily slipped past her defenses throughout the course of the evening and had, without a second thought, jumped into the fray to defend Peggy when she thought she was in danger.

Her heart sped up as she recalled the flirtatious smiles, audacious winks and brazen compliments Angie had showered her with all evening, and not because it was her job, but because she was genuinely interested. It had been a long time since someone had been able to rattle her like that, and Peggy found she'd rather enjoyed it. Perhaps it was time to show Angie precisely what she meant.

Leaning in closer, she brought a palm to Angie's cheek and softly murmured, "Perhaps this will help clarify things," before placing her lips against Angie's and pressing forward. Her left hand fluttered down to rest firmly on Angie's knee.

Peggy felt Angie's hands grasp her shoulders as the younger woman reached out to steady herself, her lips parting on a sigh. Peggy took the opportunity to deepen the kiss ever so slightly, then more as Angie responded and opened her mouth fully to her ministrations. They stayed that way for several heartbeats, slowly learning the feel of one another until Peggy finally pulled away and gave Angie a nervous smile. "Do you understand now, darling?" she inquired tentatively.

"Boy, do I ever," Angie whispered, an unfettered smile blooming across her face.

Peggy responded with one of her own and tenderly ran a thumb across Angie's lower lip, swiping away the traces of lipstick she'd left there. She regarded Angie with uncontained affection. "I must admit, this is not how I envisioned the evening ending."

Angie winked. "Right there with you, English."

Peggy cleared her throat a touch self-consciously. "Yes, well. I think, perhaps, I should take you home, darling."

Angie lifted a flirtatious eyebrow. "Why, Agent Carter!"

Laughing, Peggy swatted Angie's arm. "Nothing so tawdry as that." Her gaze dropped back to Angie's lips. "At least, not right now."

Angie grinned. "Oh boy! I knew you were trouble when you walked in."

"You knew no such thing," Peggy scoffed taking her by the hand and lifting Angie to her feet.

Angie bit her lower lip and nodded. "Oh yes, I did. That dress, those legs, that accent, not to mention your amazing –" her eyes flicked to down to Peggy's breasts, and Peggy smirked as a pink tinge suffused the bunny's cheeks.

"And I had so hoped it was my mind that drew you to me," she sighed dramatically.

"That, too," Angie agreed with a salacious wink, looping her arm through Peggy's. "So whose home are you taking me to – mine or yours?"

"Angie!" 

"What? A girl can dream, can't she?"

Peggy shook her head and smiled affectionately and guided them back inside the club, already certain of one thing – life with Angie Martinelli would never be dull. Peggy found herself looking forward to what lay in store for them.


End file.
